


Sixteenth Christmas

by tatooedlaura



Series: Christmas [17]
Category: The X-Files
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 19:14:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10600437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatooedlaura/pseuds/tatooedlaura
Summary: Headed out west for Christmas via a short little road trip ...





	

“Mulder, it’ll be fine.”

“Can’t we just drive? I mean, we’ll leave early and take in some sights and get there and have Christmas and then drive home. It’ll be like old times.”

Scully looked at him over her spoon, oatmeal piled high, “you want us to drive through both the Smokey and the Rocky Mountains in December? Really?”

“We did a Christmas in northern Minnesota. I think we can handle a nice drive through the mountains.”

Watching him stir his tea, butter his bagel, dart his eyes from her spoon to her face to his plate in repetition, she saw the man she used to sit across from at a Formica diner table at 2am, in the middle of Nashton, Delaware or Tarkington, Colorado, eating greasy hashbrowns slowly while he tried to convince her that the footprint wasn’t human, the lights weren’t a wayward swarm of fireflies, the evidence he has was just slightly more extraterrestrial than he had imagined when they first arrived. He wore a smile that only she would recognize as such, the small muscle on the left side of his upper lip nudging just slightly upwards, fractions of millimeters, twitching more than moving, spasming so minutely that anyone else in the world would think he was sitting stone still.

She felt her muscles give way, her face soften without regret as she simply shook her head, once again, as so many countless times in the past, she gave in to him, knowing they may not get to their destination in a straight line or with relevant speed but eventually, with stories to tell and laughter to share.

“Okay.”

And, as things progressed in the fashion normal from the first day they’d met to this very moment, he grinned in her direction, taking a bite of his bagel and talking around it as he chewed, “when do we leave?”

&&&&&&&&&&&

Maggie, being Maggie and loving her daughter and what she now referred to as her ‘one of these days, eventual son-in-law’, graciously patted Scully’s hand when she told her they’d be driving to San Francisco instead of flying, “he gave you that look, didn’t he?”

Her mother knew them too damn well sometimes and with an eyeroll of someone happily resigned to caving to her Mulder, she then nodded, smiling, “it’ll be a nice trip through the mountains.”

&&&&&&&&&&&

Jeep packed, house locked, food and blankets stowed, flashlights, shovels, emergency flares, tire chains, assorted rescue equipment stashed in a box in the back, they headed off into the early morning light, sky rosy, temperatures below freezing, Mulder smirking, poking Scully in the ribs as she attempted to continue her night’s rest in the passenger seat, pillow jammed up against the window, “I will cut off the tip of your finger if you keep doing that.”

“My God, you are still cranky after all this time knowing I’m going to be poking you. Why aren’t you used to it yet?”

“Why the hell haven’t I cut off your finger yet?”

Feeling his inner sass kick in, “you like what I do with my fingers, Scully. You’d be very sad if one of them disappeared.”

Her chuckle was involuntary and for it, she received another seven pokes, the last one culminating where she liked his fingers best and pushing his hand away in amusement, “would you just drive already? Christmas is in five days and knowing you and your tourist-trap stops, we’ll get there by New Year’s if we’re lucky.”

Removing fingers, he returned to the steering wheel, “you’re bossy in the morning.”

Scully settled into her pillow further, “you’ve never complained before.”

“Usually you’re naked at the time though.”

Her hand shot out, pointing through the windshield, “Go!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

&&&&&&&&&&&&

First day, nothing.

Second day, she began noticing things but argued with herself that she was wrong.

Third day, in the middle of the Rocky Mountains outside Denver, she politely brought up the subject, “Mulder?”

He was sitting in the corner of the room, tugging off his shoes and absently pulling the curtain tighter over the window every few seconds, “yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

Genuine confusion met her gaze, “I think so. Why?”

Biting her lip, she wondering if prodding would bring about an argument she didn’t want to have, “you … you keep checking the curtains. Do you see something outside?”

The barest hint of anger chased its way across his face before settling back into Mulder, “I just want to make sure no one can see in. Not a fan of getting naked with an audience, especially on the first floor.”

Not wanting to ruin their trip, she let go of the fact that he checked several more times, then covered the peep hole in the door with a bandaid, moved the phones to charge in the bathroom covered with a towel, Scully assumed to block the cameras and their conversations from anyone possibly listening. He unplugged the room phone, pushed a doorstop from home under the room door, then came to bed, settling in to read his book while she did her nightly routine.

How had she not noticed his habits? Had she really been spending that much time at the hospital that she neglected signs so obvious to her that she felt utter stupid in having missed them?

When had he taken his paranoia to this next level?

Fourth day, she woke to find him spooned behind her, hand under her shirt, a little something pressing insistently against her pajama bottoms. Seeing the curtains opened to the third story morning glory that was the Rocky Mountains, she decided to let things go until they got home, choosing to keep an observant eye on him for now. Instead, she relished in his fingers, playfully grumbled something about sleeping in before she pressed back into him, his hands moving to slide her flannel down before pushing himself up inside her.

&&&&&&&&&&

Only getting lost once, which was impressive for the pair to say the least, they pulled up to the house Christmas Eve morning. Once to the front door and inside, they found the holidays were in full swing at Bill’s house, Matt and Graham running to them, hugging, making general 12 and 8 year old boy noise. Maggie squeezed them both tight once the boys cleared out and then Tara made her way over, completing the greeting, Bill still at work until the late afternoon.

Festivities happened, dinner occurred, games commenced, sweets consumed, goodnights given, the pair ended up, at midnight, lying cozily on an air mattress in the back room, curtains open to the full moon pouring in the room. “Merry Christmas, Scully.”

Snuggling even further in, she nuzzled under his chin, “Merry Christmas, Mulder.”

“This is our 15th Christmas together, did you know that?”

“I remember.”

Voice soft in her ear, “what if I hadn’t come over that night? You would have put your tree away and never blown on my hot chocolate to cool it down and I never would had fell in love with you that very second and we wouldn’t be lying on an air mattress in your brother’s house on Christmas Eve thinking that we should sneak out of here and go check out the Golden Gate all lit up for the holidays.”

“I don’t like to think about the first part of that and the second part is more comfortable than I thought it would be for an air mattress and the third is a really good idea except for the fact that I’m already falling asleep right here.”

His hands roamed lightly over her back, “thank you for driving out here instead of flying.”

Nearly unconscious as this point, her words were slurred and soft, “if I were afraid of flying, you’d have driven out here without hesitation.”

Mulder’s voice grew hard, “I’m not afraid of flying. I just thought it would be nice to take a little vacation with you. You spend so much time at the damn hospital that I never see you.”

Pulling back immediately, brain slow to react to his sudden harshness, but realizing they were doing this now, “you’ve been covering up the windows and the cell phone cameras and avoiding using anything with your name on it. I’ve been signing everything and you cover the camera at the gas station with your hand even though you think you look casual and leaning when you do it but I notice. It’s okay.” She moved her hand up his chest, stroking his chin, watching his eyes still full of fire, “you would have had to give the airlines your name and then whoever you think is out there would have been able to track where you were going and when you’d be leaving and you were worried about what could happen with us in the air and what could happen to you trapped in a plane full of people you didn’t trust.” All this poured out, Scully herself discovering most of the information as it came to vocal fruition, without more than one breath and with complete calm. Stopping with her last revelation, she felt her heart twist when she realized, in his expression, that it was all true.

Then she watched him morph into Deniability Mulder, the man who could talk himself out of anything involving a head-on collision with his darkest fears and feelings.

She simply closed her eyes, feeling him roll off the mattress and begin pacing, pulling on sweatpants and shoes while she lay there, dreading the prospect of the impending fight, the inevitable closed-off interaction, the silent, polite, pretending Mulder she couldn’t stand. Opening them back up, she found him kneeling on the floor, sliding his arms into his thermal shirt and about to apologize, he held up his hand, then leaned over to kiss her forehead, “I need to get away from you for a little while. I don’t want to fight and I can’t … just …” shaking his head, he stood, “I love you.”

And he was gone, slipping into the dark hallway, moving quietly enough that only Scully could track his movements, given years of midnight bathroom breaks and 2am snack attacks.

She tried not to cry but the moment she heard the front door click shut, she fell apart.

&&&&&&&&&&&

Not sleeping well, she spent 20 minutes in the bathroom with a cool washcloth trying to reduce the size of her puffy eyes to levels that wouldn’t warrant drilling questions about why she looked like she’d been sobbing most of the night. Once she achieved what she thought was a look of polite exhaustion from an uncomfortable mattress in a strange place, she snuck to the makeshift bedroom once again, finding Mulder dressed and lying on the mattress.

Before she could ask where he’d been, he took in her face, knowing it better than his own, and stood, enveloping her in his long arms, “I hate making you cry.”

“I wasn’t crying.”

“I hate … making … you … cry.” Each word punctuated with a kiss to the part in her hair, “I didn’t want to fly because I wanted to be alone with you, trapped in a car like the old days, where the only thing we had was each other and we loved it. Everything else … I’m not thinking about right now … but I’m sorry I made you cry. You have no idea how much it kills me.”

Enjoying his warmth, she stayed there until she heard footsteps upstairs then pulled back, “will you go to mass with us?”

“Will your mother believe in my eternal damnation if I don’t?”

“Probably.”

“Then we’d better get out there.”

&&&&&&&&&&

Church didn’t burst Mulder into flames. The priest didn’t call out the atheist amongst them. The demons weren’t writhing in Mulder’s soul. He knelt, sat, stood, moved politely aside when the rest of the pew moved to take communion. During the Sign of the Peace, he shook Bill’s hand, kissed Maggie’s and Tara’s cheeks, quietly patted the boys on the shoulder, whispered his apologies once again against Scully’s hair while he hugged her.

She held his hand tightly the entire time.

Then Maggie slipped on an icy patch, swore in front of the priest who was outside shaking hands and any tension between the intrepid duo evaporated, nothing like a good swear on Christmas morning to push them back to normal.

Scully broke first, then Mulder, then the priest, followed by Maggie and the rest of the family, the boys laughing so hard they nearly fell over themselves. After that, Christmas spirit returned and they all moved back home, breakfast and Santa awaiting.

In the midst of present opening, Maggie handed Scully an oblong box, tag stating, “for Small from Tall.” Smiling down at her daughter sitting on the floor, Mulder molded behind her, “I can only assume you are ‘Small’?”

Mulder took the box, “yes, she is.”

The room had quieted given it was Scully’s turn and looking at Mulder over her shoulder, “I’m ‘Small’?”

Grinning, “you are very small, indeed.”

Nudging him with her elbow, she opened the box to find her latest Christmas ornament, a glassy, metallic, painted mug of hot chocolate, complete with sprinkles, whipped cream and Mulder’s boxy alphabet announcing across the front, ’15 Years’. Scooting around to face him, she held up her gift, “did you really fall in love with me when I blew on your hot chocolate to cool it down?”

By now, their audience was listening intently, even the boys, “of course. You took my drink right out of my hand and blew germs all over it? How could I not fall in love with you?”

“You’d think that would have been a turn-off in some respect.”

“You kidding? Hottest chick in the room giving two craps about me burning my tongue? I really should have kissed you right then.”

“I was the only chick in the room, Mulder.”

“Still are.” Giving her a grin, he leaned forward, kissing her full and long, not caring about anyone or anything watching them.

Scully, however, remembered they weren’t alone after about 10 seconds and pulled back, pink with embarrassment at her sudden and unusual public display of affection. Gliding her thumb over his chin briefly, she twisted to settle against his chest once again, holding her hot chocolate mug and grinning happily.

Maggie handed Mulder, a few minutes later, his own box, “to You from Me.” Shaking her head down at the pair, “we have to talk about your labeling system, daughter of mine.”

“Thank you, Maggie.” She ruffled his hair as she sat back down and watched as Mulder opened Scully’s gift, a collection of eight glass-blown tropical fish, brightly colored and finely detailed, hanging from thin wire and ready for hooks, prepped for tree trimming the moment they found their back home. Admiring each one in turn, “why eight?”

“There were eight different ones and I couldn’t decide so you got eight.”

“Makes perfect sense to me.”

&&&&&&&&&&

Much later in the day, after an obscene amount of food was inhaled, they were back on the air mattress, Scully on her side, Mulder on his belly, arms over the edge, examining his fish more carefully. Watching him with half-lidded eyes, she reached out, running her finger along the outer shell of his ear, staring peacefully as his lip curled upwards involuntarily, “enjoying your gift?”

“Of course.” Holding up a beautiful sunset colored one with fiery red fins and glittery blue eyes, “this one’s Scully,” then picking up a sword fish type with a long snout and long blue fins, “and this one’s Mulder.”

Scooting closer against him, “are you going to name them all or just those?”

“Just these for now. Maybe later, I’ll do the rest but these are the ones that matter.” Setting them down gently, he turned his head in her direction, resting his mouth on her forehead, whispering into her skin, “I don’t think fish mate for life but I like to think that ours will.”

“You get sappy when you’re sleepy.”

Moving in more, he found her lips, “but I think I can stay awake a few minutes longer.”


End file.
